


Hidden in Plain Sight

by torino10154



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2009-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torino10154/pseuds/torino10154





	Hidden in Plain Sight

_**Hidden in Plain Sight**_  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** ~2400  
**Pairing:** Pre-slash (Severus)/Harry, Harry/OMCs mentioned  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. They belong to JKR.  
**A/N:** Written for my Snarry loving flist with special thanks to the wonderful [drachenmina](http://drachenmina.insanejournal.com/) for her beta and Britpick. Any mistakes that remain are my own.

The nondescript Muggle coffee shop sat halfway between Harry's flat and the Ministry. He still took a milky cuppa in the afternoon but before a day of training he wanted-no needed-the rich, slightly bitter taste of black coffee.

He'd found it by accident running into a man in front of the shop. He'd _literally_ run him down, spilling the man's coffee and, embarrassed, insisted on buying him another. The smell had overwhelmed him as soon as he was through the door as if this had been what he'd been missing all his life. He'd shaken his head laughing-almost like falling in love.

The bloke behind the counter had been a thin, dark-haired man about his age. Probably at uni, working part-time to pay off his student loan from the look of him. His inky black hair had been tied back but several strands had fallen loose and concealed his profile. Harry had had the oddest sense he'd seen the man before but couldn't quite place him. Perhaps it had been when he was walking to work.

The man had turned back to Harry and spoke with a northern accent. Just moved down to London then, Harry surmised.

"What'll it be?"

"Two cappuccinos, please."

"That's five pound forty." Harry had counted out three two pound coins wondering why he always had so much change in his pockets. The young man had handed him his change silently before turning to the espresso machine and brewing the coffee.

The steamer squealed and the man wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his hair lank and damp. Bloke reminds me of Snape, Harry had thought ruefully and tried to imagine Snape brewing coffee for the masses. If he didn't like students - and he'd had some power over them - Harry couldn't believe Severus would tolerate serving Muggles for a second.

"Thanks," Harry had smiled as he took the cups but the man didn't acknowledge his words. Realizing the fellow he'd bowled over was still standing with him he'd handed him the cup and introduced himself.

"I'm Harry, by the way," he'd said.

"Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Andrew." _Andrew. I like the sound of that._

~*~

Harry stopped in every morning for coffee now in spite of having lost Andrew's company months ago. The black-haired bloke had his coffee waiting for him at eight thirty three every morning. Once he inquired how the man knew he'd be there then. But the only reply was that he was always running a few minutes late.

They never exchanged more than the pleasantries but Harry still felt a bit sad when he finished his Auror training and no longer passed the shop on his way to work.

He wanted to say good-bye but thought better of it. The man had never been especially warm or friendly. Harry knew he was just another customer moving on.

~*~

Harry needed flowers to give to his date, Graham. Neville had been working for a florist for close to a year now and Harry knew he could trust his friend to be discreet. Apparating around the corner from the shop, he smoothed out his robes before entering.

A bell jingled and Harry heard a voice call out from the back room, "I'll be right with you!" Harry looked around at all the beautiful plants, once again happy that Neville had found something he was good at, more than good if he was honest, in fact bloody brilliant.

The bouquets and floral arrangements in vases were remarkable. Harry wondered whether it was Neville who put them together or if the owner was the one with the magic touch. He chuckled silently, as he stroked a single flower petal, at his use of the Muggle phrase.

Just then the door from the storeroom opened and Harry's eyes widened at the gentleman that stepped through the door. He had a sense of déjà vu, as if he was certain they had met. The man had close-cropped black hair, a strong jaw and cheekbones, and a goatee. Dressed in black trousers, a white shirt, and a dark green tie he looked more a maitre d' than a florist.

"May I be of service?" the man asked as he approached.

Harry realized belatedly that he'd probably been staring. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "I was expecting Neville."

"He's helping take care of a rather large order at the moment. However, perhaps I can help you?"

"Um, yeah, well, I need a bouquet that is not too serious but shows how I feel about . . . " Harry trailed off suddenly self-conscious. Did this man know who he was?

"I think your _gentleman_," the man lingered over the word, perhaps waiting to see if there was any objection, "would like something unusual, even unique from a man such as yourself."

Harry nodded dumbly. "What do you have?"

"Allow me to show you some flowers and tell you of their significance. Then you can decide if I have what you desire."

_Desire_. Harry was beginning to desire something all right. Thankfully, Neville chose just that moment to burst through the door.

"Harry!" he said, smiling widely.

"It's good to see you, Neville," he said shaking his friend's hand and wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

"I see you've met the owner, Mr. Livermore," Neville said.

"Ah," Mr. Livermore said as he looked to Harry, "Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Mr. Longbottom speaks of you frequently."

"All good, I hope," Harry laughed.

"Naturally. I shall leave you in his capable hands. Good day, Mr. Potter," he said and swept though the door into the storeroom.

Harry stared. "Blimey, Neville. I thought you said you liked your boss. And he seems nice enough - but he almost reminds me of Snape!"

Neville smiled. "I know, Harry. He is a bit dramatic sometimes and I'm happy I've never been on his bad side but he's really not like Snape at all. I mean, he's definitely a perfectionist and dedicated to his craft - but if Mr. Livermore had been my professor I reckon I'd have got an O on my Potions OWL."

"Don't talk like that, Nev. Imagine what old Snape would say." They both laughed. "Listen, I do need a bouquet and we were just looking at these . . . " Harry and Neville began assembling something for Harry to take home to his _gentleman_.

~*~

Harry came by every week or so to visit Neville-he really had missed seeing his friend-and if he was honest with himself, to catch a glimpse of the mysterious owner. He no longer needed the flowers for anyone in particular. He tried not to dwell on the fact that he couldn't seem to keep a relationship going for more than a few months, although his hours as an Auror were a nightmare to be sure. An already strained relationship didn't stand a chance.

After a several months Harry stopped in to find Neville rearranging a large display in the front window. A job usually reserved for Mr. Livermore.

"'Lo, Neville. Where's Mr. Livermore?"

"You won't believe it, Harry! He asked me if I wanted to buy the shop from him. Said he was ready to move on and that he wanted to leave the shop with someone capable, someone like me," Neville practically babbled in his excitement.

"That's great," Harry said, and meant it, but he couldn't help but ask, "did he say where he was going?"

"Nah. He just gave me a post box number to forward his mail to. Want to get a drink? To celebrate?" Neville asked wiping his hands on a towel and shutting off the lights.

"Sure," Harry said absently, unable to shake the feeling of disappointment.

~*~

There had been Tony, Brian, Kyle - each lasting less time than the last. Why was it that everyone could manage a relationship but not him? Ron and Hermione had two perfect children, mini versions of themselves. Even the likes of his cousin Dudley and Draco Bloody Malfoy had each found someone willing to suffer their presence on a permanent basis, both producing boys and both men sensibly not naming either child after their respective, if not respectable, grandfathers.

After work Harry began going to a pub not far from his flat. It was nothing special, attracted all sorts-Harry was just a face in the crowd. It was as if the famous Harry Potter didn't exist and for that he was thankful.

Something felt different one night; something he couldn't quite put a finger on.

"The usual," he told the barman as he slid onto his stool at the bar.

"And what _is_ the usual?" the barman asked. Harry looked up and realized there was a new man behind the counter. A fit man as a matter of fact. Shoulder length black hair, greying at the temples and a silver earring in his left ear. Thin, taller than Harry but only just. It seemed Harry did have a type after all and it was always a variation on the same theme-tall, dark and sexy.

"You seem familiar. Have we met?" Harry asked.

"I don't believe so," the man replied smoothly. "Today is my first day. Choose your poison."

"What?" Harry said as he considered the barman more carefully.

"What are you drinking?" he enunciated as if speaking to an eleven-year-old imbecile.

"Scotch."

"Of course." He turned his back on Harry-_what an arse on this one_, clad as he was in tight black denims-and took down a bottle of Scotch and a shot glass from the cabinet before placing both before Harry. "Do try to keep your wits about you. You never know what sort of people you will run into in a place like this."

Harry took a sip of his drink, the heat burning his throat. A pleasant burn to be sure. Rather like that _other_ burn that was lacking in his life. Taking another sip, he laughed at what a maudlin man he'd become at such a young age.

After three or four, possibly five, drinks-he really had lost track, he stood and the barman seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"Goodnight," Harry said in the man's general direction just happy he wasn't falling down and making an arse of himself.

"Goodnight, Mr. Potter," the man replied. Or at least Harry thought he had. He whipped his head around but his eyes met the back of the man's head as he dried shot glasses. Harry shook his head, a bad idea, as it turned out, but maybe he'd only imagined his name. Harry pulled his cloak more tightly around his neck, stepped outside and Disapparated.

When Harry appeared at the bar the following evening, a bottle of Scotch and a glass were waiting for him. He was suddenly reminded of the young bloke he used to get coffee from when he was in Auror training. But it was likely Harry was just the most predictable man on the planet, with simple taste whether in coffee, flowers, alcohol or men. Once he made a choice he stuck with it come hell or high water. Like his inability to choose a different sort of man, he thought ruefully.

Since the barman fell into the same mould, he decided to take a chance. Most of his attempts at small talk were unsuccessful; certainly the drunker Harry was the less the bloke spoke to him. So Harry watched him-watched other men flirt with him, causing Harry to blush, Merlin knew why. They were even less successful than Harry was though which pleased him beyond measure.

So the next evening, Harry decided to give it one last chance, an all out assault on the man. He showered and shaved, dressed in tight jeans and an even tighter shirt. If he didn't get lucky with the barman at least he'd stand a chance of finding someone else to take home for the night.

When Harry took his seat at the bar, the man quirked a brow and Harry felt a jolt of arousal in equal measure with a keen sense of loss. He finally realized what was missing in his life, _who_ was missing. No one had seen Snape in the years since he'd walked out the doors of St. Mungo's and Disapparated on the spot.

Harry thought back over his lovers, the assortment of men that had piqued his interest. They all reminded him of Snape to one degree or another. He laughed out loud, more of a sob really.

The barman looked startled but quickly masked his features. Surely he'd seen men who'd acted much stranger.

Harry gathered his Gryffindor courage and before he thought too much about it, asked, "Come home with me tonight?"

The black eyes looked him up and down appraisingly. "I'm afraid company policy prohibits fraternizing with the clientèle," he replied and then wiped down the bar with a rag.

"Of course," Harry lamented as he finished his drink and made his way out. Although he was far from drunk, he decided to walk home to clear his head.

When he arrived at his flat, he knew only that perhaps he was the one ruining his relationships. Not the men that failed to be Severus Snape.

And the barman hadn't said no exactly. Maybe he could go back and find a way to erase their business relationship. Certainly he could go to another bar.

Upon his arrival at the bar the next night, Harry knew the barman was gone. As soon as he walked through the door, there was a change in the air. It was just a little less magical.

~*~

Somehow knowing he'd never find Mr. Right was freeing. Harry focused on his work, visited his friends. McGonagall even offered him the DADA post when he came to see Neville in his first year of teaching. But he didn't think he was ready to deal with starry-eyed eleven-year-olds or doe-eyed seventeen-year-olds.

Stopping by Gringott's one day, Harry noticed an apothecary near Ollivander's that he'd never seen before. Something compelled him to go in. A warmth spread through him as soon as he touched the door handle, a sensation he'd felt before . . . only stronger. It reminded him of the feeling of coming home he remembered from the coffee shop. The comfort he felt in the florist's shop. The attraction he'd felt at the bar. A smile spread across his face as he opened the door and saw the man standing behind the counter.

"Severus."


End file.
